


Bringing Work Home (The Roommates Remix)

by Lets_call_me_Lily



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel
Genre: Agent Travers, Attempted Murder, Dead Body, Director Carter, Gen, Living Together, POV Outsider, Peggy/Angie (offscreen), Remix, Remix Revival 2020, SHIELD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:09:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26746414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lets_call_me_Lily/pseuds/Lets_call_me_Lily
Summary: When Director Carter took Stark on his offer of an apartment, the whole office just about sighed with relief.Agent Travers wasn't expecting to ever pay the place a visit, though, let alone twice. The dead body maybe should've come as less of a surprise.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Angie Martinelli
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14
Collections: Remix Revival 2020





	Bringing Work Home (The Roommates Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Netgirl_y2k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Living Arrangements](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400505) by [Netgirl_y2k](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Netgirl_y2k/pseuds/Netgirl_y2k). 



When Director Carter took Stark on his offer of an apartment, the whole office just about sighed with relief. It was pretty stressful knowing that no matter what time they knocked, the boss could be found in her office. Plus it meant an end to the increasingly loud imploring from Stark, which distracted everyone, and his butler’s uncanny way of stepping into a room with baked goods and stiff concern, which guilted everyone except the Director herself.

Agent Travers was a local transplant—Howard Stark snatched him from the SSR because, or so he claimed, Traver’s moustache rivalled Dum Dum Dugan’s. He knew the territory, so being sent out with Agent Robinson to scout the apartment and note any vulnerabilities was no hardship, except that SHIELD agents were now responsible for housekeeping, too, apparently. _Make sure it’s fit to be lived in_ , Travers was instructed. Stark, winking lewdly, added that they were to empty out all the bedside table draws.

The apartment—if it could be called that—was bigger than Traver’s whole _house_. High ceilings, polished floors, a lot of dust and, bizarrely, fresh cut flowers on the dining room table. Clearly no one told the florist to stop coming. By the end of the visit, Travers wished that he’d never set foot in that bedroom, with its huge bed and clear remnants of Stark’s ideas of entertainment. 

At least Director Carter wasn’t there, Travers had consoled himself. And he’d never have to face her while trying to suppress the unpleasant memories of rifling through those draws. She hardly ever gave out her first name, let alone indulged in something as informal as inviting her agents for a drink at home. You had to be a Howling Commando, or Daniel Sousa, for that honour.

So it was with some trepidation that he knocked on the Director’s door a few months after she’d moved in. Behind him, Agents Carraway, Cohen and Guerra were making eyes at each other, impressed by the long elevator ride up to the penthouse level. Agents McKenzie and Rossi had been left at the entrance of the building, arms crossed menacingly to hide their disappointment in pulling guard duty.

Director Carter opened the door with her hair half in curlers. Her face was still pink from exertion, and there were flecks of red on her robe, which was cinched firmly at the waist.

“Come in, agents,” she said impatiently.

“Really, he’s already dead, there’s no need for this fuss. I’m late enough as it is, Angie’s going to be furious.”

Travers spared a thought for who Angie was—a code name for an agent? Did the Director have family in America?—as he stepped inside. The other agents filed in after him, all trying valiantly not to stare at anything other than the crime scene. Which wasn’t much of a crime scene, apart from the number of dishes piled up in the kitchen sink. The Director led them to the bedroom, evidently where the fight had taken place. A cool breeze from the shattered window sent duvet feathers spinning around the room, and stuffing escaped through the tattered mattress. Surrounded by smashed bits of chair, a dead body was congealing in a pool of blood.

“Well, gentlemen, I do apologise.” The Director propped her hands on her hips and considered the body chidingly. “I would have preferred him alive for questioning, but he quite surprised me.”

Guerra, bless him, looked ready to upchuck. This must be his first dead john, Travers thought; he’d been too young for the war and a new hire. The Director must’ve picked up on it too, as she commanded, “Travers, Guerra, go guard the door in case another comrade decides to try their luck tonight. Carraway, Cohen, there’s a stretcher in the second-left closet we can use to move the body.” 

Travers took one last look around. Director Carter raised an eyebrow at him, then returned to inspecting a dagger she must have found when searching the body. He tipped his head hurriedly and followed Guerra outside. Absolutely top of the list of _Things Not to Even Think of Suggesting, Ever_ that Stark handed around to all SHIELD recruits was “anything that suggests you doubt Director Carter’s skill”. Apart from the section about not betraying their fellow agents, defecting to the Russians, or pretending to be an ex-girlfriend and kidnapping people, the rest of the list was pretty much all about respecting the Director properly.

Some new agents scoffed at Stark’s civilian fancies, but Dum Dum made sure to be there so he could glower in turn and say: “T’ain’t for your sakes, it’s for ours. If we didn’t train you up, Peg’d do it herself. And it’d be a right hell of paperwork to hire all her agents anew.”

“I hate interviewing people,” Stark would add with a moue, “Jarvis won’t let me fob it off on him.” 

Then they’d continue their round, leaving it up to the agents to figure out whether the Director would just fire them, or if they’d be tumbling into an early grave if they violated the list contents.

Travers liked his job, much better than being a building super. Still, it wasn’t every day that the Director’s home was invaded, and he’d hate to be remiss about searching the place. Outside the apartment, Guerra closed the door and they both took up position on either side of the elevator.

A few hours later, the medical examiner had been and gone, having inspected the body and concurred with the Director that cause of death was likely self-ingested cyanide pill, then hurried off to test the blood samples. A half-dozen senior agents were settled into the Director’s living room, sipping alcohol-spiked tea and listing off current cases that might have incited such an attack on the Director’s furniture. They’d pulled in file notes from the main office, and Travers and Guerra had overseen several hushed CI-agent conversations from the relative cover of the elevator.

They were just wrapping up when the discreet ding of the elevator put Travers on alert again— SHIELD wasn’t expecting any more visitors. A lovely dame with honey-coloured hair widened her green eyes at them, clutching a bunch of flowers. Was she a trap? Travers peered at the flowers, reminded of the Director’s cautionary tales about Dottie Underwood, and the moral of not underestimating pretty women. Was there a gun hiding behind those colourful petals?

Guerra straightened. “Sorry miss, you can’t come up this way.”

But the lady stepped forward, calling out, "What's going on? Is Peggy okay? Peggy? Hey, Peg!"

Travers was ready to pull her to one side, only the door behind him opened and the Director strode out in her robe, murmuring instructions to the two agents beside her. A new spark crept into her eyes as she exclaimed, "Angie, thank goodness,” and waved her in.

“Agent Travers, let her through."

Angie? That name sounded familiar. Travers hesitated. Known to the Director or not, there was still a dead man to contend with in the apartment. They’d not carted him off yet.

"Er, Director, shouldn't we wait until they've removed the body."

The Director’s pursed lips conveyed exactly what she thought of that statement, and Travers looked down despite himself. 

“Thank you Travers, but there’s really no need. And, as you may have noticed, there’s only one elevator in which to transport the body. So Angie really must step out.”

In fact, they all had to step aside as two more agents came out of the penthouse with a stretcher. 

Once it passed them and was on the way into the elevator, the Angie-lady said, face straight, “Gee, Peg, you know I hate it when you bring your work home."

And Travers was surprised to see the Director laugh, teeth bright as they glinted in the hall lights.


End file.
